Broken Lens
by FeelingBlue12
Summary: As they approached the culmination of the week's traumatic events, Maxine Caulfield realized she was in love with Chloe Price. But as they both stood on the precipice, she decided to go against her heart, and honor Chloe's wish to sacrifice her to save Arcadia Bay. Now, she must face the consequences. Alone. Differs from the game in that the funeral takes place during the time skip


Broken Lens

„ _I'm the fury in your head  
I'm the fury in your bed  
I'm the ghost in the back of your head"_

The time jump passed, and she opened her eyes to the blazing orange sun in front of her. It was a beautiful sunset that bathed Arcadia Bay in glimmering rays of gold and bronze light. They raced across the ocean, their light breaking on the waves and infusing the forests with a warm glow. It looked like the world was trapped in a shard of amber. She looked down, and saw she was sitting on a familiar bench, with a black dress coming down to her knees. She glanced to the left and the storm of emotions hit her like a hurricane. Pain wracked her entire body, and tears started running down her cheeks as she bent forward, falling from her bench into the mud below – only now she didn't have her friend to hold her and pick her up. She knew what her black dress meant, and she knew that the girl she had kissed on this cliff just moments earlier was now gone, her body lying in some pit in the ground, dead forever. She still felt her lips pressed against hers, her arms still remembered her embrace, but now that girl, her Chloe, was gone as if she had never even existed.

And then, as she was getting up from the mud, she thought of how Chloe had died thinking she was abandoned, and pain surged through Max's body again, making her stumble and fall down once more. Abandoned by her father, abandoned by her best friend, and then finally abandoned by Rachel. The thought of Chloe dying like that, bleeding out on dirty wet bathroom tiles, having experienced nothing of the joy they shared this last week, made Max feel like vomiting, but she soon realized she must have eaten nothing this day, for she was only able to spit on the ground in front of her. She mustered her strength, wiped away the tears swelling from her eyes, and got up to her feet, trying to regain her composure. _Chloe knew this would happen_ , Max thought, and she chose to do this anyway. She chose to sacrifice more than her life, she chose to sacrifice her last week of happiness and friendship, all those beautiful and glorious and exciting moments they shared, and all the joy and pain they caused. And she chose to do it for Joyce, for her step-father, and for the entire town beneath this cliff, for every crusty fisherman and passing trucker. _No Max, you chose_ , she heard herself think, but ignored that voice. It brought nothing except more pain.

Max looked at the small fishing town under the lighthouse, glowing beneath the last rays of sunshine, and felt only a gaping hollowness engulfing her stomach. She knew she should feel relieved, but she didn't. The run down little town knew nothing of the sacrifice made to save it, knew nothing of what Chloe gave up to make sure none of it's inhabitants died. As a colder breeze began to blow, Max found herself more or less firmly on her feet, and trying to ignore the tremor she felt in her legs as she passed the spot of their last kiss, started walking towards the road that led to Arcadia Bay, away from the lighthouse and all the memories it evoked. As Max neared the road home, the last amber-colored rays of receding sunlight fell on an old tree stump by the side of the road, and she forced herself to look away, tears once again swelling from her eyes.

The road down led her to the beach, as beautiful and pristine as when she was thirteen and playing pirates with Chloe. No sign of beached whales or natural disasters was to be found – reality was finally fixed it seems. Then why didn't she feel relief, Max wondered, why was cold resignation all she could feel? And was that feeling in her belly a hint of disappointment? _This is not our beach_. Their beach was sad and different, and had the hulks of magnificent dead creatures morbidly adorning it. That beach was theirs even when Chloe was broken and in a wheelchair, waiting for a friend to put her soul at ease and her body to sleep. It was theirs when they hugged in front of a hurricane, happy to see each other alive and well. This was not their beach.

 _Do you remember what you promised yourself and Chloe then, Max?_ she asked herself. _At her deathbed you promised to save her, you promised not to let anything hurt her, because she had suffered enough already_. And she knew that the pain Chloe suffered wasn't inflicted just by fate and pathetic, cruel men with cameras, it was also inflicted by Maxine Caulfield, Best Traitor Friend in the galaxy. _Five years_. How could she have let her suffer for that long? Now that she knew what Chloe went through, and now that she was dead without ever having seen Max again, those five years seemed like a crime worse than the murder she let Nathan commit. And it was that absence, that painful scar on their relationship, that made Max promise herself to Chloe forever, to guide her and shield her and make her smile again for the rest of her life.

„And what have you done with your promise „Super Max"?", she heard herself whisper into the cold howling wind, Chloe's favorite nickname for her now leaving a sickening metallic taste in her mouth. Nothing and less, she knew. She let Chloe die a death worse than being shot by Jefferson, a death worse than dying broken but surrounded with family. The thought made pain shoot through her body again, and Max stopped her walk and bent over, heaving and almost retching. _Nothing good can come of these thoughts Max._ _Chloe would hate to see you torture yourself over this_.

 _But you made the choice Max_ , a voice whispered in the back of her mind. For Chloe, she ignored it. It was her choice too.

Leaving the chilling beach behind her, Max started walking towards the bus station, hoping to catch the bus to Blackwell and her dormitory. If the time jump went well, Kate should never have even tried to jump off that rooftop, and hopefully the dorm would be all abuzz how Nathan Prescott committed a murder and how Jefferson got arrested. That might turn their poisonous attention away from poor Kate, she thought. Perhaps Chloe now saved Kate in her own way, instead of Max. It was a comforting thought, and for the first time since she walked down from the lighthouse, Max felt a shimmer of warmth in her body. Chloe would have liked that thought too.

On her way to the station, she passed by Frank's RV, and heard quiet sobbing coming from the inside. The police must have learned about by now Rachel too, Max thought. Worse even, they have likely found out how Rachel died. That must have hit Frank hard, and Max couldn't help but feel sorry for him. And poor Pompidou, he seemed to have loved Rachel as well. At least they have each other, she thought bleakly, the weight of Chloe's death now resurfacing and bringing her mood down again. „Who in the world could replace you Chloe?", whispered Max again, her voice broken. She fell to her knees again. _No one can replace her_. _And she mustn't be,_ she thought, sickness now spreading from her stomach at the idea. She was one and only, and even thinking of replacing her would be an insult to her memory, memory now left solely on Max to keep. The weight of that thought pressed down on Max even harder and she felt like she might cry again – but her tears had seemingly all ran out. „I can never forget you Chloe" she whispered, „not one moment we spent together".

Just at that instant, a sharp sound snapped Max out of her thoughts, and she got up to her feet, turning to see where it came from. Frank had gotten out of his RV, looked around, and started pacing towards her, face looking even hollower than usual, flanked by his faithful Pompidou, looking at her with caution and curiosity.

„Who are you, and why are you skulking around my van little girl?", he said in a raised voice. „Oh you're the girl from the funeral. I thought you looked familiar." Frank frowned a bit, but let his guard down. Pompidou looked more relaxed as well, following his master's lead.

„Oh, hi Frank, uh, Mr. Bowers" said Max. She really didn't know what to say, since this was probably their first encounter. Aside from likely seeing each other at the funeral. _And what was Frank doing at the funeral anyway?,_ Max asked herself. She hadn't gotten the impression Frank cared much about Chloe before they agreed to help each other find Rachel.

„I saw you standing by Chloe's family. Didn't know she had friends anymore, and I sure never saw you around her. And how did you know my name? We didn't quite „mingle" at the funeral" Frank said, more curious than concerned.

„I, uhm, Chloe told me about you, so I thought I recognized you." Max evaded, still unsure of what to say to him.

„Well, Chloe never told me anything about you. Not that we talked much lately. Well, Pompidou doesn't hate you, and that's good enough for me not to kick your ass. But I still don't like snoops. Especially freaky little snoops like you." His voice was getting sterner now. Max knew she'd have to leave soon, so as not to tempt Frank's short temper.

„Did you, uh, know Chloe well?" Max asked shyly, her curiosity getting the better of her. „I mean she talked about you for a bit, but didn't really say...".

„Oh I'm surprised she talked about me at all. All she cared about lately seemed to be running away without paying me what she owed. But yeah, I knew Chloe a bit, a while back. She was all down and whiny, going on about how her father died on her and how some friend of hers left her to go to Seattle." Letting out a sigh, he continued; „That was before she met Rachel though." Frank visibly flinched at the mention of her name, his jaw tightening in a painful expression of guilt.

 _Yeah, we're all in pain here in Arcadia Bay_ , Max thought, a feeling of sickness washing through her at Frank's mention of Chloe. She must have been in so much pain to talk like that to Frank. Max subdued the roiling emotions before they once again broke through to her face.

„Well, uh, nice of you to be there for her... I mean, at her funeral. I think she would have appreciated it" Max said, still speaking softer than a mouse.

„If you think that I'm not sure you knew Chloe as well as you think girl. Now get lost, you've nosed around enough". Frank was now getting pretty determined to get her off his Premium Beachfront Property, so she acquiesced.

„Well, I'm glad you were there anyway." She had more strength in her voice now. „Goodbye Frank", she said, and turned around, walking towards the bus top again. „Yeah, whatever. Freak." she heard him say in turn, as the sound of paws running onto the RV signaled that the two had turned away and went home as well.

Walking towards the bus stop she couldn't help but feel like something was off. Somehow, that entire conversation was just a little strange, somehow not right. She couldn't quite put it into words, but that both did and didn't feel like Frank. He sounded like Frank, and he talked like him. But it didn't feel like him. Something was missing, like some tiny piece of his personality just wasn't right. _Well you did miss an entire week, Sherlock._ Still, it felt like it was something more. And she couldn't shake that feeling. _It wasn't my Frank._

As she was thinking about him, Frank's words came back to her, echoing inside her until they deafened all other thoughts. _"She was all down and whiny, going on about how her father died on her and how some friend of hers left her to go to Seattle."_ The sickness she subdued moments before resurfaced. _Oh Chloe._ Tears started swelling from her eyes again, tiny streams flowing down her cheeks and mouth, their salty taste gathering in her mouth. _I abandoned you. I was such a terrible friend._ The rivers flowing down her face joined at her chin and started dripping slowly onto the ground, glistening salty pearls crashing against the pavement. _Fate is so cruel. You shouldn't have suffered like this, not for me, and not for this town._ Disturbed again, she started walking faster, pacing towards the bus stop, almost starting to run.

 _But she saved them. All of them. Joyce and David, Kate and Warren._ Max couldn't save them, but Chloe could, and she did. She felt cold rising from her stomach and taking her over again. _She owed this town nothing, it had made her life a living hell, and she gave her life to save all of them anyway. They didn't deserve you Chloe._ By now she was galloping, cold air surging past her, making her jaw tingle and cheeks burn where tears were flowing moments before. By the time she reached the bus stop, her bus was already dutifully waiting for her, a yellow sanctuary in dusk's growing darkness. As she reached it, Max noticed her breathing was irregular, and that her lungs were crying for air. Entering the bus, the cold seats embraced her as she threw herself into them, catching her breath and shaking like she had a fever, beads of icy sweat dripping from her nose and crawling down her neck.

Trying to calm herself down and not think about anything for a minute, Max looked down at her lap, and saw that she had ripped her black funeral dress. Moreover, inspecting her entire body, she was surprised to learn that she now looked worse than the inside of Frank's RV. There were some light bruises forming on her arms, she was covered in thin layers of dirt all over, and the fabric of her dress started fraying underneath her armpits and on her hips. _Well, at least now I look the way I feel_ , thought Max grimly, a dull pain coming to rest over her entire body. _I wonder whose dress this is, or did I rent it just for Chloe's..._. She stopped herself there. Just the thought of her ached more than any bruise ever could. So Max tried thinking of something else, but each different thread relentlessly came back to Chloe, whether it was about the dress (and what she might say about her current „style") or about a simple heart shaped carving on the back of the front seat, teasing her to remember that cliffside kiss all over again.

Tired and exhausted as if she had just climbed a mountain, Max tried her best to keep her mind blank as the bus drove on towards Blackwell. Dusk turned into night, and the harsh rumble of tires racing along the asphalt road filled her mind and numbed the pain in her heart. By the time she got off the bus and reached her dorm room, Max was finally tired enough that no coherent thought could exist in her mind, and she crashed into bed, still dressed and still filthy but at last unable to think or feel anymore. The blank relief of sleep overcame her as soon as her head hit the pillow. For the first time since forever it seemed, Maxine Caulfield was not in pain.

She woke up in the dead of night, aching all over, feeling dirty and bathed in sweat. _You knew you shouldn't have went to bed like this Max_ , she thought to herself. Getting up, she grabbed her phone to see what time it was. _3:46 AM, great, I'm going to wake half the dorm if I go showering now._ Still, she rose from her bed, picked up her pajamas from underneath the pillow, walked over to her small closet and took her toiletries from the shelf. The only light in the room was the moonlight coming from the windows, but that was enough for her to find the door leading out into the hallway. Slowly pressing down the handle, Max snuck out of her room and started walking towards the showers as silently as she could. It seemed the entire dorm was asleep tonight. _Hopefully tightly enough not to get woken up by a shower._ Turning her phone's flashlight on, she soon came around the corner and opened the door to the right, white light filling the room and bouncing off of mirrors and tiles. She noticed a flash of red on one of the mirrors, and found the link to Kate's video still emblazoned across it's surface. _Seems this Max didn't wipe it away,_ she thought, wondering what the reason might have been. „Never too late to do the right thing" Max whispered, and wiped away Victoria's blood red lipstick.

Getting into the shower, Max undressed, left her phone with it's light still shining on a shelf and opened the tap. She let herself be overcome by the searing heat of the water, filthy grey streams flowing down her body. She liked that it was slightly too hot. It felt like she was cleaning away more than filth, like she was burning away the terrors of the day. _As if „the day" even applied._ She had jumped through so many realities, rewound so many times, that she couldn't really tell if she spent more time in the past or in the present. _As if „present" applied either_. Sure, she wasn't in the past any more, but this wasn't her present, not really. _The world has changed._ She had changed it. And everything felt off, just as wrong as in the reality in which she saved William. Only now, her own reality felt gone, closed behind an impenetrable curtain of her making, and she was stranded here, in this world without Chloe. The thought made her flinch with pain again.

Under the icy white light of her phone's LED, she stopped the water, grabbed her shampoo and started rubbing her body with it. The slow dripping of water started echoing throughout the bathroom. _This is how this world feels without you Chloe_ , _painful and colourless, cold and dark_. Rubbing across some of her bruises ached, but she scrubbed on, intent on getting rid of all the filth on her body. The dull physical pain and the thorough scrubbing motions gave her something to focus on anyway, and that seemed to be the easiest way to escape the depressing thoughts that engulfed her mind like a dark oily cloud. Once she was done, she turned the water on and let herself once again enjoy the rush of blazing heat that ran over her body, taking away the last of the dirt. The sensation of warm water flowing over her chest and limbs calmed her and so she stood there, indulging herself. Countless minutes seemingly passed before Max thought she was ready to leave. Finally turning the water off for the last time, she picked up her towel, wiped herself dry with it, and opened the curtain. Dressing herself in her pajamas, she took her phone and returned to her quarters as carefully and silently as she had left it. Entering the room, she dropped her filthy clothes on the floor and rushed to bed, letting it's comforting warmth embrace her.

„You're my number one priority Chloe!" she saw herself screaming at her, a bloody hole adorning Chloe's forehead, blood flowing from her belly as rain poured over them. „You're gonna get in hella more trouble for this than drugs!" screamed Chloe at Nathan, just as a gunshot rang through the dark junkyard, Mark Jefferson stalking quietly towards her. „Max, help, I-I'm stuck!" Chloe shouted, as the sound of the coming train filled everything. „Max, help me get outta here!" she screamed as the tracks started screeching. „Max PLEASE!" she cried, as the train ran over her, leaving only a bloody mist. The red mist became orange sunlight, and it bathed the inside of Chloe's car. „You were happy to wait five years without a call, or even a text.", a bloody Chloe told her accusingly. _I came back Chloe, I love you, I would never hurt you!_ , Max heard a voice echoing in her head, but no words came out of her mouth. „I bet you don't use these sad excuses on Mr. Jefferson. Don't use them on me Max". Amber sunlight darkened and turned red, pulsating white and crimson, becoming the color of broken reality. „You used your powers, right? And you fucked around with time, and I died" said Chloe full of anger and vengefulness, as reality collapsed around them and Max once again stood in front of a hurricane on the beach, only now she was alone. No friend to hold her, no lover to kiss her. She felt the hurricane sweep her aside, and she could almost feel like she was flying, dead whales dancing in the wind beside her. For a second, she flew through the air, a blue butterfly fluttering alongside her. Then ahead came the cliff face, and she crashed into it, dull pain overcoming her in an instant.

Cold grey sunlight woke her, and she saw the dull rays of cloudy morning light shine across her room. She was sweaty again, and panting. The dream still felt real to her, as real as the visions of the hurricane. _But it couldn't have been a vision, could it?_ Chloe was dead, and she isn't coming back, not to be angry and not to be vengeful. The thought of Chloe shot a surge of pain through her body again. Wiping the sweat off her forehead, Max got up from bed and looked around her room. _I wonder what I've been up to this last week,_ she thought, trying to distract herself. She glanced at her plant, still sitting by the window. _Oh, poor Lisa, you didn't survive my attention in this reality._ She was completely dried up, brittle brown leaves adorning her withering branches. _I must have been really stressed out by everything that happened with Nathan and Jefferson, and Chloe. I'm so sorry. I really do have a black thumb._ Looking around more, she saw her wall of selfies was once again pristine as ever. _Must have avoided Nathan's wrath in this timeline_. At least some small things went right. Looking down, Max noticed a box sitting near her bed, marked Chloe. A tremor shook her as chills went up her spine. _That must be all of Chloe's stuff. Joyce and David must have given them to me._ However, instead of feeling happy or grateful, a sense of profound sorrow washed over her. It was so sad they had to give all her things to friend she hadn't seen or talked to in over five years. _Chloe, alone against the world. The world won._

She picked up the box and sat on her bed. Opening the lid, she noticed that the things inside seemed a bit ruffled, not quite as neatly arranged as Joyce would have done it. _I must have gone through them already._ _Well, the other Max did anyway._ William's instant camera sat prominently in the centre, and Max took it out slowly and respectfully, laying it on the bed by her side. _William. I didn't save you. So Chloe could live. I hoped you'd understand_. She looked at the camera caringly, remembering the moment Chloe gave it to her. How she lit up like a Christmas tree when she saw the picture of the blue butterfly, and how happy she was that her old friend had saved her. It all seemed so long ago. _She gave it to me because I saved her life. And now I didn't._ She took the camera in her hands again, caressing it, and looking at it its old lens with guilt. How many times had William looked at the two of them through these she wondered. This lens had seen so much of Chloe's life, it had captured so many of her happy moments. _I'm so sorry William. I let both of you die._ She put the aging camera back in the box as gently as she took it out. _I don't deserve any of this_ , Max thought, putting the lid back on the box. _None of her photos, none of her happy moments._ She raised her head and looked away from the box and towards the window, and the white-grey sky beyond it. „I chose not to save her.", Max said in a broken whisper, emotions stuck inside her throat as she tried to clear it.

 _Yes, you did. It was your choice Max._ The voice in her head teased. It was getting harder to ignore. And why should she ignore it anyway? She deserved it. She had all this power, she could jump through time and rewind history, and she did nothing but let her best friend suffer and die. She raised her hand and felt the strands of time pulse and coil at her touch, ready to be wound back at her command. But where before the feeling left exhilaration, now only a leaden weight remained and Max felt nothing at all. Why twist time, when all she could do was break it. _Does it mean our fates are unchanging?_ she wondered, the thought echoing in her mind. That would have been comforting, all responsibility lifted from her shoulders. But the nauseating feeling of unease told her it wasn't true. She could almost feel herself standing there on the cliffs, wind and rain battering against her face, on the cusp of changing destiny. But a price had to be paid, death had to be sown for life to be reaped. The price was too high. _At least that's what Chloe thought._

Noticing that she was once again drifting into dark thoughts, Max shook her head and got up from bed. She dressed slowly, caring neither for time nor for what she put on herself. Anything would do anyway. Once dressed, she went to her desk, passing by the stereo on the way. _Definitely not in a mood for music,_ she thought, emptiness swelling inside her. Glancing on her desk, she saw her old analogue instant camera laying by her laptop, and another digital camera she didn't recognize. The new arrival had a post-it note sticking on it's back, so Max picked it up and read the hastily written text on it. _„Max, so sorry about what happened to your camera in the bathroom. I'm just happy you weren't hurt. Until you can get yourself a new one, I'm leaving you mine. Have fun with it. Warren."_

Max's heart sank, cold spreading from her chest. She put Warren's gift back down on the desk and picked up her trusty old analog camera. At first glance, it looked normal, but the second she turned her eyes to it's front, she saw the problem. The camera's front lens had been broken beyond repair, with pieces missing. „You didn't survive the time jump either", she whispered to her camera, feeling like she had just lost an old friend. _You were my window into the world for so long_ , she thought. _Rest in pieces buddy_. She couldn't resist the pun. _Maybe there's some of Old Max still inside me_ she mused cynically, laying the old camera back down. More likely she was just influenced by reading that text in Warren's voice.

 _So sweet of Warren to give me the camera though_ , she thought, as the cold feeling left her chest. _He cares so much_. Just as warmth was finally showing signs of settling in her heart, the feeling morphed into guilt. She was never able to return the affection. Just one more person whose life she's made more miserable. _I wonder if we're „going Ape" in this reality_ , she wondered morbidly. She definitely didn't feel like going. In fact, once the tingle of guilt had passed, she felt completely blank. She started wandering aimlessly around the room, her arms bumping into the desk and her legs dragging along the floor, stumbling on the furniture in their way. _I don't know what to do with myself._ Her hands grazed Lisa while she circled the room, and half her dry brown leaves fell to the floor. Max barely noticed it.

She sat down on her couch, blankly staring at the wall in front of her. Those photos used to make her feel so proud, each of them containing a moment of grace or charm she captured. Now she felt nothing looking at them. They were moments in time, but now she saw that they were inconsequential, empty and bleak. A sunset here, a person there, pictures of forests and flowers. Irrelevant and emotionless, there were a million other pictures like them in the world. _They don't feel like they're mine any more._ They didn't have beauty in them.

 _They don't have Chloe in them._ She remembered the picture she took of her while she danced on her bed, smoking and laughing. Her blue hair whirling in the air, her spirit filling up the room with light and energy. The longing for that moment tore her up inside, twisting branches of pain spreading from her hollowed out heart. _I'd do anything just to have that one photo back. Just that one moment._ _That was my Chloe._ But now she never was. This Chloe died alone and abandoned on the floor of a dirty bathroom. And this Max took no pictures of her, captured none of her happiness. _My memory will fade. And who will remember you then Chloe? You'll die all over again._ Cold shivers rattled her body at the thought.

Gloom overtaking her, she looked at poor dried up Lisa, her dead leaves now strewn across the floor. _Lisa, you look like I feel. Dead._ An idea occurred to her then, ever so slightly peaking her interest. _I could take a picture of you like this Lisa. You might be the perfect symbol for this week._ Having nothing better to do, she got up and took Warren's camera from the desk. Coming back, she crouched and focused on Lisa and her remains, trying to get as good a picture as she could with the digital camera. But, despite her best attempts, the colors just weren't right, and the shadows were vague and ill-defined, no matter which angle she tried to focus from. She took the picture anyway. _It might look better on a computer. Or when developed._ She sighed, pessimism darkening her face.

Still, looking at the world through the lens of a camera had always calmed her before. From that perspective she was always the observer, cataloging and capturing moments. Even though Chloe was now gone, trying to do that again might help her see all the life that still remained, life Chloe saved. _Chloe would like me to try._ The memory of Chloe on the cliff resurfaced, the look in her eyes piercing Max's soul again. _She was so brave there. So determined to be the best she could be. Selfless and kind._ She owed it to her to try and do the same. To be as brave as she was. _It is decided then._ Max got up from her crouching position, put the new camera in her bag, slung it over her shoulder, and left the room, giving it one last look before she left. 

* * *

**So, for author notes:**

 **I started writing this almost as soon as I finished the game for the first time, after I found the Life is Strange Fans community. The amount of kindness, support, creativity and talent present in that magical corner of the internet pushed my long subdued creative urges to the fore, and imbued me with a massive urge to create - write and draw. For that alone I can never express my gratitude to the community enough. For the kindness and friendship I've found there, I'm at a complete loss for words. I think I can honestly say I love the community as a whole, and have a deep affection for all it's members. It is simply the best place around.**

 **More concretely however, I must thank Astree and Tunner for reading and contributing to the FF immensely. Tunner's words of encouragement, and Astree's extremely detailed and constructive critique have made it possible for me to gather the courage to publish this work at all. And without Astree, this FF would likely have never existed. While I don't think much of my work, without Astree's help, it would have been literally immeasurably worse. So thank you again Astree.**

 **Before talking about the fanfic, I have to credit the Foals for the opening verses I've so blatantly stolen from their song Spanish Sahara. The song, part of the game's OST, has inspired this ff from the start, and it's verses feel like a fitting match for the content. If adding their verses is rude or impolite of me, I'd ask for any would-be reader to tell me, so I can remove it. I'm new at this, and not yet sure.**

 **Now, the work itself is flawed in my opinion, and intrinsically so. The lack of dialogue is the most obvious flaw, as it slows down the pace of the FF, and deprives it of what most people find interesting in such works. The large use of internal thinking and a relative lack of an active plot are also flaws that I'm afraid cannot be fully repaired no matter what. The story is about Max's emotional journey after Chloe's death, and everything she feels as she tries to cope with the aftermath. That is in itself an unfortunately limited plot, not helped along by my inexperience and lack of writing skills. I welcome all critiques and advice for how to improve it, if anyone has enough stamina to read through it all and not fall asleep. I'd be very grateful - all critique can lead to me improving myself and my writing, and that is something I want very much. Also, all grammatical problems spotted I'd appreciate hearing about - I'm not a native speaker, as might be painfully obvious. Who knows, maybe you can help me make something tolerable out of this story yet.**

 **There will be a second chapter (and maybe a third, if I start writing too much), but the story is closed, I know the ending and most of what happens on the road to it. So there's no open ended-ness.**

 **In the end, thank you lonely reader for giving all this a go. It means a great deal to me, and whatever you think of the work, I hope you can write a review, and make is as scathing as you'd like. Harsh truths are beneficial as well. Thank you again, and I hope you got at least something worthwhile from this story.**


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